


breaking

by twinkPrince



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkPrince/pseuds/twinkPrince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>everything feels so strange like this, like you're disjointed from it, like you're not really there. An odd sensation, and one you're not quite sure what to do about. Well. You could always break it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breaking

**Author's Note:**

> another random Baccano fanfic. I had fun with this, even if it's completely bizarre.

If Graham would have to choose a primary reason as to why he stuck with the Russo Family, despite having no real loyalty to them, would have to how many opportunities he received to break things. Not people, not always people, but that wasn’t too relevant. Breaking things was what Graham did best, even if some could hold the belief he was useless at it.

_Just because I won’t kill._

Breaking and killing were different, Graham maintained. Breaking didn’t necessarily denote no chance of repair. People could reverse the damage Graham did, if they wanted to. They could put themselves back together after he took them apart, and honestly, that was cool. It amused him, made for a happy story, when he got to break them all over again when they hadn’t learned the first time.

_They don’t understand._

Graham wanted to explain it, to someone, but every time he tried it would just come out as too many words that made no sense and it would only solidify the person’s preformed opinion of him. That he had no idea what the hell he was talking about, that he was insane, or that he was high or something, but it didn’t matter what they thought. They didn’t matter. They were just too easy to break.

_People are the same as machines, when you get down to it._

Boss Ladd had spent plenty of time trying to convince Graham that killing people was just as much fun as taking them apart, but that had to be one thing Graham actually disagreed with his Boss on. Sure, it could be mildly entertaining watching Boss Ladd kill people who had it coming to them, but if he were to do it himself, Graham would just feel guilty. Besides, a life had no solid form, and therefor it was harder to tell when you’d properly destroyed it. Ladd had said that made Graham’s moral compass just as busted as his own, but Graham liked to think it was in a different way.

_Still, it hurt._

Graham stared almost blankly at his hand, each finger hanging loosely out of place, the joints bent away from their natural angle and twisted around until they’d snapped. It hurt. But that was a good thing, feeling pain every now and then had to be a good thing. A nice, twisted little reminder that Graham could continue to break things. Because he knew how it felt. He took hold of the lowest joint of his index finger, and pushed it back in to place. Sometimes, that would hurt even more than it had to dislocate it in the first place, which would in turn lead to the disturbing idea that perhaps it was better to break things than to put them back together, that breaking them was better for them.

_So really, I’m doing everyone a favour._

Graham grinned, a little pained, and moved on to the next joint, and the next, snapping each one back in to place before moving on to the next finger. “A happy story and a sad story, just like always, when you think about it hard enough,” he smiled with a certain level of dissonant serenity, wandering over to the door of his warehouse and slamming his wrench against it, smile widening as it skidded shut on the first hit. If he had a clock, it would probably say something around, whatever, 11? 12? Late, too late. Graham walked back over to a partially dismantled car -- one of many, but he liked this one -- and curled up on the hard leather of the back seat. Not exactly the best place to sleep, but whatever. Wasn’t like he had too many options, and it was better than the ground. Graham wrapped his arms around himself, and thought of Boss Ladd. He was probably off either doing something fun -- messed up -- or thinking about sleeping somewhere normal. Or at least, not a conveniently stolen vehicle.

_I should break this. It shouldn’t be too hard to replace._

Graham got up -- not quite sure whether or not he’d actually slept, his thoughts were surreal enough to mistake for dreams -- at around an hour after badly filtered sunlight began leaking in to the warehouse. “Now,” he sighed, theatric emotion not even he was sure was sincere, “I get to break you.” He grinned, swinging his wrench up to point at the car. “You’ve been good to me, but you’re replaceable. Or maybe I could fix you, and then we could be friends again. Hey, who am I kidding? What kind of idiot would forgive me after I broke them? I don’t think I want to be friends any more. So, whatever.” The movements that followed were quick, smooth, and efficient. Graham smiled, and it almost didn’t hurt, as he observed the tiny pieces of perfectly removed machinery on the floor. “Perfect.”

_So, now what?_

“What happened to your hand?” Ladd asked, staring at the bandages wrapped around Graham’s left fingers.  
“Nothing,” Graham grinned, but shoved his hand out of sight in his pocket none the less. “Just an almost sad part of a bittersweet story. But it was happy in the end, so it doesn’t really matter, right? Tell me I’m right.”  
“Your version of right is insane, you know that?” Boss Ladd shakes his head and sighs, “try not to get yourself killed or something, yeah? It’ll make me look bad.”  
“Sure, Boss,” Graham nodded distractedly, glancing off in another direction, and he tried not to feel guilty about essentially ignoring his Boss. “Whatever you say.”  
Ladd watched him for while, before he shrugged and left.

_That’s good, better, it won’t help following him around now._

Still, the empty warehouse didn’t exactly provide the best company. Talking to yourself could only provide so much volume in the other wise silent air, and knowing what your conversational opponent was going to say was never exactly as fun as having a separate person to respond. So, Graham supposed he could describe his current living conditions as rather lonely, but if he twisted enough stories around it, he didn’t mind. It was a little disappointing to reach the place where his bed(car) and once stood, and now there were only little pieces of machinery, perfectly usable, and perfectly not worth fixing. Graham stared at the pieces for a few moments, and considered asking them -- as politely as he possibly could -- if they would please put themselves back together. But in the end he decided that it would be easier to just find a new place to sleep. Graham rocked back and forth on his heels for a few moments, surveying his surroundings in the hopes of finding somewhere suitable to carry his pathetic excuse for a blanket over to and curl up for the next few hours. Or days.

_Quite a depressing thought, that was._

It wasn’t like these periods of depression were abnormal for Graham, his manic mood swings were frequent enough that anxiety and sadness weren’t foreign to him. What was strange was that lately, his depression hadn’t been balanced out with his usual corresponding happiness. Graham tore his gaze away from a promising looking corner and instead dragged his wrench off to a car chassis.  
“Hello,” Graham smiled, “my name’s Graham. I thought you should know that, considering what I’m going to do to you.” His smile dissipated in to a sigh as he tapped his wrench against the edge of the metal frame. “This is sad,” he declared, “I need to break something more substantial, but lately even my okay brain isn’t coping with, dammit, whatever this is. I don’t know.” He slammed his head against the metal, and snarled. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck!”

_Maybe I need help._

Graham knew he was unbalanced, he’d always been slightly unhinged, ever since he was a child. And yet, it had never really bothered him. Well, now it bothered him, mostly because it was just strange, out of the ordinary for him. The way machines just weren’t doing it for him anymore. Graham just couldn’t enjoy it as much as he used to, it was fun, sure, but didn’t get him as excited as it used to. People. People sounded worth breaking. Graham’s head ached as it connected with the unforgiving metal again and again, until he could feel the warm wetness of blood trickling down his face. He was used to blood, didn’t really mind it, and it wasn’t like this was the first time he’d ever broken the skin hitting his head against something.

_Maybe I’ll bust up my okay brain so bad it’ll stop working._

That could be a good thing, he thought. After all, thinking was using up so much effort as of late. And effort was painful, and pain hurt. Graham turned away from the now blood stained metal, and fell back on to ground with a sigh.  
“This isn’t good...” Graham murmured, “what should I do? Why, why does everything hurt? Why can’t I break anything, why can’t I break it and enjoy it? Even when I’m so, so broken. Damn it. Damn it damn it damnitdamnitdamnitdamnitdamnit --”

_This is pathetic._

“Hey, Boss! You in here?” Graham blinked in mild surprise at the sound of the voice. Shaft shouldn’t be here. Graham had told him to take the dayweekmonthyear off. So why....? “Don’t get mad at me, but I really don’t have anything better to do.”  
Graham eased himself to his feet and peered out through the twisted metal in front of him to try and get a glimpse of Shaft. He could just make out the outline of his surbordinateminionfriend wandering through the warehouse, no doubt looking around for Graham, or at least making a show of it.  
“Well then, this is odd. It’s rare for you not to talk,” Shaft commented, taking a seat on an oil drum and tapping his fingers against the metal surface in an irregular rhythm. “So maybe I should talk to make up for it. It is kind of weird to not have you talking constantly when I’m around.”  
Graham slunk back in to his corner, sitting back down and drawing his knees up to his chest. If Shaft was going to talk, Graham might as well listen.  
“I’ve been thinking,” Shaft began, and Graham nearly asked what about, before catching himself. “Why do you let me stick with you? I mean, you know what -- you have to know about what I do. You know...I’m not all on your side.”  
I know, Graham thought, with a sleepy sought of acceptance. Of course you’re not.  
“So why am I still here? Seriously, Boss, why do you trust me?”  
Because I like you, Graham let his head fall against the wall, because not even Boss Ladd talks to me as much as you do. Ladd liked him, of course, and Graham more than liked him. But Shaft was still the one who talked to him.

_Why couldn’t he have shown up sooner?_

“I’m not going to tell you everything,” Shaft continued, “just wanted you to know, even if I’ve kinda betrayed you, I’m not going to just leave. So, that’s it, I guess.”  
What?  
“Later, Boss.”  
Did he seriously just leave after that? Graham stood up a little too fast, and ran over to the door in time to see Shaft’s car driving away.  
“Well how about that,” Graham muttered, slumping against the door frame and watching the departing vehicle. “I took your car apart one time, Shaft. Remember that? It was funny.” Graham grinned, and let his vision glaze over somewhat as he thought. “Are you my friend?” Graham wandered back in to the warehouse and slammed his wrench in to the oil drum Shaft had been sitting on. The resulting dent was rather amusing. “If you are, than that’s good. Some one who can admit to betraying me and still claim to like me has to be my friend, right?” The laughter that echoed against the high ceiling was bordering on unsettling. “So I guess I should break something to celebrate, right? Excellent!”

_This is great._

The car chassis, still marred with Graham’s drying blood, wouldn’t be much of a challenge, but Graham didn’t care. He was feeling far too high to care. Who knew a little visit from a kinda friend would brighten his mood so much? Graham’s wrench swung against the metal frame, barely brushing it, like it was only the encouragement for the pieces to fall apart. Graham’s laughter continued, manic, crazed, and beyond disturbing.

_At least I’m not depressed any more._

_For now._


End file.
